


And it's contagious

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AAAAAHHH, F/M, Fluff, Last fic before premiere, Phil Coulson can't take care of himself, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4894852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson doesn't get sick. Okay, he did die, but that was one time. So there's no way he's going to be taken out by a damn cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And it's contagious

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff! Set in the vague future where Coulson (mostly) calls her Daisy with zero hesitation because I can't take the time to wrestle with that todaaaay. 
> 
> Title from "Us" by Regina Spektor

Phil Coulson didn’t get sick.

He got beat up, sure. Tortured, then there was that whole “alien consciousness” thing.

And yes, he did die, but that was one time.

The point was, if something was going to take Director Coulson out of commission, it had better be at least life threatening. So, when he noticed a tickle in his throat at a morning briefing, he thought nothing of it.

When his nose became stuffed up, he wrote it off to allergies. When he was informed that there was no way springtime allergies could affect him in the mostly-underground base, he assumed there must be mold somewhere on the Playground that was bothering him.

It was only when he woke up with a pounding head, chills, and magnified versions of the initial symptoms that he admitted he must have caught a cold. It wouldn’t stop him from getting up at the usual time and going to his office, of course.

It was just extra miserable.

“Good morning Si--are you feeling alright?” Bobbi asked when he passed her in the hall, so Coulson just gave her a little ‘ _all-clear, as you were_ ’ wave and kept moving.

“Morning, Direc--well jeez you don’t look so good,” Fitz said, before shaking his head. “Not that-- I mean you do look _terrible_ , but just because--”

“I’m fine, Fitz,” Coulson said sternly, which was made slightly less intimidating than usual by coming out as ‘ _Fibz_.’

Finally trudging up to his office, Phil groaned as he sat at his desk. Resting his forehead against the cool surface, just for a minute before getting to work, he hoped it would pass by the next morning.

***

It did not pass the next morning. Or the next one. In fact, Phil was beginning to think he was getting worse. By avoiding the common spaces and working mostly on filing and paperwork, he was able to keep interactions to a minimum. He wasn’t about to get everyone else sick, and if it meant that he didn’t have to field concerned looks or cracked up remedy suggestions ( _Hunter_ ,) all the better.

Unfortunately, his solitude didn’t last long into day three, as he heard the door to his office open.

Coulson didn’t look up from the file he was pretending to read, just _knowing_ it was Daisy; she’d been one of the ‘concerned-look-givers,’ but had mostly been too busy to give him a serious lecture. He should have known it was coming. Sitting up a little straighter, he tried to discreetly clear his throat. There was no way she wouldn’t notice the hoarseness of his voice, and he could practically _feel_ her staring at the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, the burning points high on his cheeks that were no doubt red. Turning a page he had barely registered a word of, Phil hoped she wouldn’t get too close. Both because she would see how terrible he looked, and the fact that under his desk he was wearing sweatpants.

(He’d blocked off his calendar for an hour later in the afternoon, telling Koenig that he was not to be disturbed at all during that time, barring global emergency. Considering he hadn’t slept a wink the night before, an afternoon nap probably wouldn’t help much, but it would be something.)

Phil could hear Daisy approach and began preparing his objections when she slid a plate in front of him. He looked up, confused.

“What is this?” He wasn’t sure if he meant the gesture or what was on the plate, but would have appreciated an answer for either. Daisy raised an eyebrow. He had been right: there was no hiding it from her. He looked like shit, and sounded like shit, and she was very much aware of it.

“Some little birdies told me that you haven’t been eating, which is--not sure if you’re aware of this-- _super bad for you_ ,” she said, irritated but civil. “I get you’re doing the macho, ‘I’m not actually sick’ schtick--don’t bother. But if you’re not going to make an effort to eat something, I _will_ have to resort to drastic measures.”

Staring down at the plate, Coulson nodded. “Copy that. But what is _this_?” It appeared to be a large piece of some sort of casserole, and his sense of smell was dulled down, but he was getting hints of a definite 'middle school cafeteria' aroma. 

“Oh, it’s my favorite thing when I’m not feeling well. Well, hungover, usually, but other times too. Mac and cheese, layer of tater tots, then some crescent rolls laid out flat and baked on top,” Daisy said, and Coulson realized with horror she was right. Daisy seemed to notice his hesitation, shooting an unsure look at the door. “Do you need ketchup?

“ _Jesus_ ,” Coulson muttered. “You eat this when you want to feel _better_?” He prodded at it with the spoon, noticing there was something at the bottom.

“Oh, and mashed potatoes,” she said, and Coulson could tell just from the texture they were instant. He was appalled. “It’s comfort food,” Daisy said defensively, “Like, the ultimate comfort food. And you clearly need it,” she said, catching him as he tried to discreetly wipe his nose on his sleeve. It was a good shirt, and he hated himself a bit, but he wasn’t about to admit defeat and reach for a tissue.

“This was...a nice gesture,” Phil said, which wasn’t a lie. It was nice of Daisy to...cook for him. _If you can call it that._ He knew more than anyone that food could be a comfort, a healing salve on a really terrible day. But that, not to be a snob, applied to _good_ food.

“You’ll probably want to eat it soon, it’s best when it’s still hot,” Daisy suggested, actually reaching down and snagging a tater tot to pop in her mouth.

“You mean it could get worse?” Phil asked, just imagining what it would turn into at room temp.

“Hey,” Daisy protested, covering her mouth. “Rude.”

Bypassing the irony of her insulting his manners mid-chew, he shrugged. “Daisy, everything here came from a box,” he said, trying to make it clear he wasn’t aiming to cause offense.

Daisy seemed to concede the point, looking down at the still-full plate. “Well, not everything,” she offered. “The crescent rolls came from a tube.”

Phil bit back a whimper.

“Oh come on,” Daisy sighed, grabbing his spoon. “You know I could easily tie you down and force feed you,” she said, staring at him intensely.

 _No. Don’t. Anything but that_ , he thought, watching warily as she came around to his side of the desk.

“I’m the director of SHIELD,” he said instead, trying to go for unfazed, while he swiftly rolled closer to his desk so she wouldn’t see his sweats. Then he sneezed.

“And I’m very intimidated,” Daisy said, anything but. Sitting on the edge of his desk, Daisy placed her hand on his shoulder. “Coulson, you need to take better care of yourself,” she said seriously. “I don’t care if you eat _this_ ,” she said, spooning up a corner of the casserole, “or something else, but you need something.”

“Daisy, I’m fine,” Coulson said, the stuffiness of his nose betraying him again. “It’s just a cold--.” He paused, feeling her hand move to his neck. His skin already felt hot, but her cool hand made it seem like that spot in particular was on fire.

“I’m worried about you,” she said quietly, and with a start Coulson realized how close she had gotten. Leaning in, so she was practically whispering in his ear, Daisy sighed.

 _I’m going to get you sick_ , was all he could think, her proximity making him almost dizzy. Against his better judgement, which seemed to be impeded by a fog the past few days, his eyes begin to close.

“Can you just try?” Daisy asked, and in that moment Coulson probably would have tried anything she asked him to.

Which was good, because it was in that moment that she shoved a spoonful of ‘non-perishable surprise’ casserole in his mouth.

Coulson made a noise of protest, but considered his options before doing his best to chew and swallow without making too big a fuss.

‘Middle school lunch’ was mostly accurate, but something about the combination of everything made it, as a whole, not too terrible. He looked up at Daisy, who was smiling smugly from his desk.

“Happy?” He asked, finally giving in and reaching for a tissue. He sighed after defeatedly blowing his nose, even rolling his chair away from the desk a bit. If Daisy noticed his mismatched attire, she didn’t say anything, just grabbed another spoonful and held it up to him. Annoyed, Coulson grabbed the spoon from her hand before she got any more ideas. The next bite was as weird as the first, and he still felt feverish and stuffy, but Daisy’s happy smile as she watched him eat made the whole ordeal a little less awful.

***

Phil shot up in bed, fairly certain that he had been in the process of coughing up a lung. His chest ached with the effort, and his exhaustion had long caught up with him. Every time he tried to sleep though, the coughing returned. It was infuriating. Barely hearing the knock on his door over the sounds coming out of his own chest, Coulson called out to the person to come in, with some difficulty.

He wasn’t sure who he expected, but a pajama-clad Daisy was somehow not at the top of his list. Sitting up further, Coulson turned on his bedside lamp.

“Everything okay?” He asked, and Daisy rubbed her eyes.

“M’fine, you’re just loud,” she answered, and Phil began to apologize. “No, no, not--you’re not waking up half the base or anything, just me.” Coulson wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, so he just waited. “When you cough, it’s like--like what I think earthquakes feel like to people who can’t control them. Little earthquakes, where nothing actually moves.” Her voice was tired and her words made no logical sense, but Phil somehow understood what she meant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, coughing into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Every time I lie down,” he began, hearing the pathetic hopelessness creep up in his voice. He felt like a little kid. _I just want to sleep_ , he thought, remembering the nights when he was a kid and he would be up all night sick and weepy and tired, just so tired.

“It’s because you’re lying flat,” Daisy said, moving over to his bedside. “Scooch.”

_This is a bad idea._

“This isn’t--”

“Coulson, you’re sick and I'm tired and wearing zit cream. I’m not going to jump your bones,” Daisy protested, gesturing for him to move over. Not even knowing where to begin with that, Coulson did as ordered, trying not to stare as Daisy climbed into his bed. 

She was right, of course. Even if it was _Daisy_ unexpectedly joining him, he was still stuffy and clammy and probably looked even worse than before. It could not be more obvious that nothing was going to happen in that bed that night.

_But if I wasn’t sick--_

(He didn't mind the zit cream.)

Phil wrote that thought off to sleeplessness, as well as the way he was unabashedly eyeing the flannel pajama set she wore that was in no way adorable and surprising.

“When you lay flat you cough,” Daisy said, sliding right up next to him and leaning back against the headboard. “If you try to be a little upright you should be better. C’mere.” She gestured between her legs.

_Don’t go there._

“I’m not going there.”

Daisy muttered something that sounded like ‘ridiculous’ and ‘seriously,’ pushing him forward until she could climb right behind him. Grabbing one of his pillows and sticking it behind her, she leaned back against the headboard. Her legs now on either side of him, Daisy reached forward and pulled him back until his back rested against her chest. “Better?” She asked, settling in.

 _You’re not wearing a bra,_ he thought, but instead just murmured “Better.”

And it was. He was reclined, but not fully, and not sitting upright so much that he couldn’t sleep. And no coughing.

“You don’t have to do this,” he muttered, all the while trying not to sigh in relief at how good it felt. In no time, his eyes began to feel heavy, the rhythm of Daisy’s breath and heartbeat against his back lulling him to sleep.

“Sure I do,” Daisy said quietly, and miraculously moved a hand up to smooth out his hair. This time Coulson didn’t hold back, sighing deeply as her fingers moved against his scalp.

“Because no one else would?” He asked, not knowing exactly where that came from. Maybe it was creeping up all along, every time he thought about how he wished he didn’t have to deal with this alone, that someone wouldn’t just pity him, but take care of him.

Daisy made some little noise that sounded strangely irritated. He should have known better; she didn’t like it when he got mopey.

“Sorry Skye,” he said quietly, feeling himself begin to drift off. "I mean...sorry." 

“Shut up and sleep,” Daisy told him. So he did.

 

Groaning softly, Phil rolled over in bed. Like clockwork, he woke up at the same time as every other day, and as he became more lucid, he realized how rested he actually was.

_How did that happen?_

Remembering _how it happened_ , he opened his eyes.

Daisy wasn’t there.

It made sense she wouldn’t stay, she had some early morning tai chi with May.

_If she stayed that long._

Maybe she left as soon as he made it clear he wasn’t going to cough himself to death again, but even he knew that wasn’t right. His bed was warm, and not just ‘one person’ warm. He was intimately familiar with that these days. No, she had definitely been there. Planting his face into his pillow, he yawned. He would give himself another couple minutes. He would get up, and take a hot shower, and maybe even wear pants that didn’t count as pajamas today. But first he would take a few more minutes with the warmth of his bed and the faint hint of Daisy’s scent on his pillow.

***

“You’re looking much better, Sir,” Bobbi said in the kitchen the following day, and Coulson had to agree.

“I know,” he said with a small smirk as he grabbed his coffee. Bobbi rolled her eyes good-naturedly, taking a bite of her cereal.

“I’ll give you credit. Whenever Hunter got sick it was like the end of the world, he never shut up about it.” She tilted her head. “Well, he never shuts up about anything, but it was always worse when he had a cold.” Grinning to herself, she adopted a spot-on British accent. “‘ _It’s not a cold, Bob, it’s a plague. Don’t worry, I think you’ve been neglecting the invalid enough to avoid catching it, good on you._ ’”

Phil grimaced. He wasn’t that pathetic, right? “Seems pretty ungrateful,” he commented, and Bobbi shrugged.

“Not really, I was never really the nurturing type. To be honest, whenever he got sick I’d sleep on the couch, run a few errands, give him the occasional pat on the back.” Coulson raised an eyebrow. “What? I couldn’t afford to get sick. And you try babying Hunter, he gets used to it way too quickly. He’d get better and still expect me to bring him food or care about his problems, it was terrible.”

“Can’t imagine why it didn’t work out,” Coulson said, and Bobbi chuckled.

“Yeah, well, we’re not _all_ fit for reconciling,” she said as May walked in, clearly just finishing her morning workout. “How is Andrew when he gets sick? I bet he’s a great patient.”

Grabbing a water bottle, May’s looked pointedly at Coulson. “Careful not to get others around him sick, considering their line of work,” she said, raising an eyebrow. Phil frowned, confused, before it hit him.

“Daisy’s sick.”

***

May had taken one look at her before sending her back to her bunk, but Daisy thought it was a little premature. She was fine. Okay, she wasn’t fine, but this wasn’t bed rest-level illness exactly. And okay, she had appreciated getting in another couple hours of sleep before she just couldn’t lay down anymore, grabbing her annoyingly-named “husband pillow” ( _seriously who came up with that?_ ) and propping it up behind her. Snatching a tissue from the box, she blew her nose.

_This sucks._

She _hated_ being sick. These days it wasn’t just about being miserable and achy and tired, and of course her lovely new inhuman symptoms; now she was missing out on a whole lot of work that needed to get done. She couldn’t afford a break.

_Which is maybe why it wasn’t a brilliant idea to spend so much time with your sick boss._

Fair enough, but Coulson was doing exactly what she would have done, if she hadn’t been broken of the habit out of necessity. Trying to keep up with your regular schedule, act like everything is fine. And no, the nap he was clearly planning on taking in his office was not enough.

And okay, Sick Coulson was way more adorable than he had any right to be. Kind of mopey but still trying to stick to his routine. Neglecting his health? Not cute. His red nose and frowny little face? _Ugh_.

So maybe climbing into his bed wasn’t her wisest decision. Maybe she should have put a bra on first, but hey, she wasn’t Bobbi. She doubted he’d even noticed. But anyway, it worked, didn’t it? He slept like a baby. A full-grown, alien-blood-having, adult newborn baby. Who sometimes (not much, anymore) wore suits.

Looking over at her clock, Daisy saw that it was well past noon. Groaning, she moved to get out of bed when a knock at the door surprised her.

“Uh, come in?” Who else but Director Coulson came in then, causing Daisy to quickly wipe her nose with her sleeve. “Hi,” she said, wincing at the scratchiness of her voice.

“Hey,” Coulson walked in. “How are you feeling?” He asked, and she could already see the guilty look on his way-too-expressive face.

Daisy waved it away, but was interrupted by a loud sneeze, and a couple of her knick-knacks falling off the shelves. Coulson looked curiously at the items as they joined a few of their brethren on the floor. “Yeah, that’s new,” Daisy said sardonically. “Luckily none of my stuff is really fragile these days.” Clearing her throat, she motioned for him to come in from the doorway. “I’m not really sure how being sick works, but I feel like I can’t get you sick with what you had just a couple days ago, right?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, walking into the room, and she shrugged. She could deal with it. Plus he looked way better than before, so at least she knew it wouldn’t last super long.

It must have been the fog in her head, but she suddenly noticed that he had been carrying something.

“Did you bring me food?” Sure, he’d brought her the grilled cheese that time, and made her a quick dinner in the retreat, but a cold hardly warranted him taking time out of his day to make her a meal, right? Unless there was something else dire going on that she wasn’t aware of?

Suddenly bashful, Coulson nodded. He looked around the room, at her desk that was covered in clutter. “Do you want--”

“Don’t ask me to get out of bed,” Daisy joked, settling back against her pillow. Coulson smiled, handing her the plate.

_No way._

_No. WAY_.

“This is…”

“You used the last of the instant mashed potatoes, so I used real ones, and I couldn’t bring myself to use that orange powdered crap when I had what I needed for an actual cheese sauce, so it’s not exactly right,” he said, as if he was giving a mission briefing and not doing the nicest, silliest thing on the planet. “But all the parts are there.” Clearing his throat, he looked to the door. “I can come back when you’re done for the dishes.”

“How much did it hurt?” Daisy asked, and Coulson sent her a confused look. “Layering crescent rolls over tater tots? Did you keel over?”  

“Almost,” he replied, smirking. “But once I got over the dry-heaving and general feeling of despair, it wasn’t too bad.”

“Okay,” Daisy countered, “settle down.” Sure, her casserole wasn’t the most sophisticated thing in the world, but damn if it didn’t taste good when all you want is something warm and cheesy and carb-y.

And _he made it._ Seriously, was she in the Twilight Zone? Sure it was a somewhat classed-up version, but still way below his usual cooking standards. “Why did you do this?”

Coulson looked surprised by the question.

“You said it’s your favorite thing when you’re sick,” he said, cautiously. “Unless you were just messing with me?”

“No, not messing with you, it is totally my favorite thing.” She took a bite, and her eyes widened. “Oh my god,” she muttered. It was good. _Really_ good, like she had no idea you could possibly improve on the original.

“Is it okay?” Coulson asked, looking totally smug about it. “You know I could probably substitute an old biscuit recipe for the top, and the tater tots--”

“Don’t push it,” Daisy countered, taking another bite. Some changes were fine, but he was not taking away her tots.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Coulson said, smiling. Moving to leave, he hesitated.

“Sir?” Daisy asked, looking at the conflicted face he was making. _What’s wrong?_ She saw him move his hand near her head, then stop. _For the love of god, please don’t pat me on the head_. It was bad enough she was sick, the last thing she needed was Coulson treating her like a little kid.

But instead, his hand landed gently on her cheek. As he moved closer, she could see a curious look on his face. _Is he going to_ … His eyes were staring at her lips, so... _but wait._ At the last second, his gaze shifted. 

_Oh hell no._

Turning her head, Daisy’s lips met Coulson’s, just as he was about to kiss her on the cheek.

It was a little sneaky, okay? But he _wanted_ to kiss her, she could tell. In fact, Daisy was beginning to suspect that Coulson had wanted to kiss her for a while now.

Her suspicions were confirmed when he began to kiss back. Timidly, at first, then with more fervor that made her heart feel like it was going to beat out of her chest. _Well if I knew you kissed like that_ … Feeling Coulson’s hand tangle in her hair, Daisy felt breathless.

No literally, she couldn’t breathe.

_Damn stuffy nose._

Pulling back, and watching, amused, as Coulson leaned in to follow her, Daisy took a deep gulp of air. “Sorry,” she croaked at a slightly dumbstruck director. “My breathing was a little obstructed.”

Coulson shook his head, reaching up to straighten a tie that wasn’t there. “Not a problem,” he said, looking around the room. “That was…”

“Surprising, kind of,” Daisy finished, and after thinking about it, Coulson nodded.

“Kind of,” he agreed, a small smile beginning to form on his face.

“Can we…?” Daisy gestured between the two of them.

“Oh, of course,” Coulson said, grabbing her plate and placing it on the bedside table before sitting on her bed and leaning back in to resume Kissing Phase. He wrapped one arm around her back until she was pulled in close to him, and Daisy twisted her fingers into his shirt.  

Pulling away for a second, Coulson muttered, “Wait, wait, wait,” pressing his forehead against hers before leaning back. “You’re going to get me sick again,” he said, not in an accusatory way, but definitely cautious. Daisy rolled her eyes.

“I prefer to think I’d be returning the cold to its rightful owner,” she countered. “Considering that you’re the one who got me sick in the first place.” Coulson frowned.

“You’re the one who crawled into my bed.”

_'Crawled?' That's not--you know what?_

"...Point taken,” Daisy said, grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him on top of her. Coulson was startled at first, but clearly got over it, sliding one hand under her t-shirt.

“You know, we’re probably going to just keep getting each other sick like this,” he said, kissing the side of her jaw and moving downward. “It’s going to be a never-ending cycle.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows. “ _Never-ending_ , huh?” Not that she expected _this_ to be a temporary thing. How could it be, with Coulson. He was just...always there. She couldn’t imagine not being around him, and now she couldn’t imagine being around him and not doing this.

Coulson paused in his ministrations to look up at her. “Do you have a problem with that idea?”

Okay, the whole being sick thing? She could do without. But the rest?

Daisy shook her head, grinning. “No problem at all.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS TOMORROW


End file.
